Chapter 6 - Shattered Glass
The Anderson dining room, usually a sanctuary of polished mahogany and soft candlelight, felt less like a home and more like a courtroom where the verdict had just been delivered. Rain lashed against the panoramic windows, a relentless drumming that seemed to echo the frantic, jagged rhythm of Derek’s breathing.
Megan sat across from her parents, clutching her wine glass with knuckles white as bone. She watched her brother, Derek, who was picking at a piece of steak he hadn't touched. He looked like a shark in a goldfish bowl, vibrating with a suppressed, toxic energy that threatened to rupture the fragile veneer of the evening.
"It’s a beautiful piece," Megan said, her voice thin, trying to steer the conversation toward the safe harbor of the competition. "The new rifle. I saw it in the case."
Derek’s head snapped up. A cruel, thin smile touched his lips. "It is. Precision engineering. Just like its owner."
Jack cleared his throat, his eyes darting between his children, searching for a lifeline in the turbulent waters of the dinner. "The competition is next week, Derek. Focus on that. Not the rifle."
"Focus?" Derek laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. He set his fork down with a clatter that silenced the room. "I’ve been focusing for twenty-three years. And look where it got me." He turned his gaze to his mother, his eyes narrowing. "You know, Mom, blackmail isn't really necessary when the truth is the only leverage you have left."
Evelyn’s face drained of color. She gripped the edge of the table. "Derek, please."
"I knew about the affair," Derek said, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried too far. "Before you even knew you were in trouble. I knew you were sleeping with the neighbor, Mrs. Higgins, that afternoon Megan went out on the lake."
The air in the room seemed to thicken, turning heavy and suffocating.
Megan felt the blood drain from her face. The accusation hung in the air, smelling of sulfur and rot. "Derek, that’s a lie."
"It’s the truth," he snarled, slamming his hand on the table. "And I used it. I threatened to tell Dad unless he bought me that rifle. That’s why you got it, Mom. Not because you wanted to support me, but because you were terrified of what I’d say."
Jack stood up abruptly, the chair scraping violently against the hardwood floor. "Sit down, Derek! How dare you use this dinner to air your grievances!"
"How dare I?" Derek shouted, standing now. "You two destroyed everything! You destroyed Megan! You were too busy screwing the gardener and too busy screaming at me to notice that my sister was drifting away!"
"I never screamed at you!" Jack roared, his voice cracking.
"Yes, you did! Every day! 'Why can't you be more like Megan?' 'You're a disappointment!' I heard it, Dad! I heard you say it when you thought I was asleep!"
Megan stood up, shaking. The room was spinning. The dinner was a farce, a grotesque tableau of a family that had long since ceased to exist. "I’m leaving," she whispered.
"Derek, sit down!" Jack roared again, his face red with fury.
"No," Derek spat, looking at his father with utter contempt. "Let her go. She doesn't belong here anymore. Neither do we."
Megan turned and walked out of the dining room, the heavy front door slamming behind her with the sound of a gunshot. She didn't go to her room. She didn't go to the guest house. She walked into the night, the rain soaking through her clothes instantly, ice water chilling her to the bone.
Jack stared at the empty doorway, his chest heaving. "I’m going to get her," he growled at Evelyn. "I’m going to kill him."
***
Midnight. The shooting range was an island of artificial light in a sea of darkness. The air was thick with the smell of cordite and ozone.
Megan stood at the firing line, the heavy pistol in her hand. She wasn't shooting. She was just holding it, staring down the barrel at the empty targets. She felt hollow, a cavern of grief and anger. She had come here because it was the last place she felt safe, the last place she had a purpose.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness behind the observation tower. Jack Anderson stepped into the pool of yellow light, his silhouette tall and imposing.
"Megan," he said. His voice wasn't angry anymore. It was hollow, stripped of all armor.
She didn't turn around. "Go home, Dad. The show is over."
"I can't," he said. He walked slowly toward the firing line, his boots making no sound on the concrete. "I have to finish this."
"Finish what?" Megan laughed, a dry, broken sound. "Derek’s little tantrum? Evelyn’s affair? The fact that you two were too busy hating each other to notice your own daughter was dying?"
Jack stopped ten feet away. The distance between them felt like a chasm. "I know," he said softly.
Megan turned then. Her eyes were wet, but her face was hard. "You know? You knew? You just let me disappear?"
"I didn't know," Jack said, his voice trembling. He took a step closer, his eyes desperate. "I was a fool. A blind, arrogant fool. I thought she was safe out there. I thought... I thought I could protect her."
"Protect her?" Megan screamed, raising the gun. "You pushed her away! You pushed her away until there was nowhere left to go!"
"I said it," Jack choked out, the words spilling out of him in a rush of confession. "I said it. That day. Before she got on the boat. I looked at her and I said, 'I wish you’d never been born.' I told her she was a mistake. I told her she ruined everything."
The wind seemed to stop. The rain stopped falling.
Jack lowered his head, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his face. "I killed her, Megan. I didn't put a bullet in her chest, but I did it. I drove her away. I made her feel so small, so unloved, that she didn't have a reason to come back. And because of me, she’s out there somewhere... dead or alive... because of me."
Megan stared at him. The gun felt impossibly heavy in her hand. The anger that had been fueling her for the last few days—the need for revenge, the need to hurt them back—suddenly evaporated, leaving behind a terrifying void.
Jack looked up, his eyes pleading. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, tell me you're here because you forgive me. Tell me you're here because you're alive."
Megan’s breath hitched. The reality of his confession crashed down on her, harder than any physical blow. She saw the man she had hated for ten years—not as a villain, but as a broken, weeping man who had carried the weight of his own failure for a decade.
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Her hand began to shake. The gun slipped, clattering to the concrete floor with a deafening ring.
Jack flinched, expecting her to strike him. But she didn't move. She just stood there, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and unblinking, staring at the man who had just admitted to destroying her life.
